


Sail Away, Sweet Sister

by TheNightComesDown



Series: Can't Live Without You // Queen One-Shots [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Christmas, England (Country), F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Queen AU, Queen Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 08:51:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18232658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightComesDown/pseuds/TheNightComesDown
Summary: Your family's annual Boxing Day dinner with their friends, the May's, is happening today. Brian has been your brother's best friend since childhood - so why do you feel different about him all of the sudden?





	Sail Away, Sweet Sister

The smell of the turkey roasting in the oven permeated the house, making it impossible to keep your mind off the Boxing Day dinner that would begin in a few short hours. Your mother had spent the morning scrambling about the kitchen, and she’d found no shortage of tasks for you to help her with. The place settings were perfectly arranged on the dining room table, with each fork, knife and spoon exactly where it should be – she insisted that you and your brother know how to set a table properly, “in case you ever have to dine with the Queen”.

“Y/N, put these mince pies out on the table in the sitting room!” your mother hollered from her command post in the kitchen. No fewer than six recipe books were open on the counter, which she had been poring over all afternoon to ensure that no ingredient or instruction was missed. She felt that this dinner, even more than your family gathering on Christmas day, reflected on her as a wife and homemaker; nothing could go wrong, and if it did, you were sure she would find some way to make it your fault. 

“Mum, they’re probably tired of mince pies by now, don’t you think?” you called back, intently focused on pinning your hair up. 

“It’s bloody Christmas, Y/N,” she shrieked, alarmed by your comment. “What sort of family doesn’t have mince pies?” With a sigh, you abandoned your place in front of the mirror and shuffled to the kitchen. The mincemeat-filled tarts were decorously arranged on a crystal plate, which you snatched up from the counter with such force that your mother’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. 

“That was a given to me as a _gift_ , Y/N, treat it with some respect!” 

You rolled your eyes, but not wanting to start another row, you held the plate with two hands. You’d only heard the story of Ruth May’s wedding gift to your mother a thousand times, and really, it was quite a pretty plate; best not to break it, you decided, or you’d never hear the end of it. 

Returning to the mirror hanging above the toilet sink, you finished pinning your last curl, creating an elaborate and sophisticated arrangement, perfect for the occasion. You hadn’t a care in the world whether you looked prim and proper for this dinner, but because the event reflected on your parents (or so they thought), you had been required to put in a bit of extra effort in the styling department. Because it was Christmas, you had decided on a white collared blouse and a knee-length tartan skirt, red and green, of course. You looked down at your tights, nude to blend in with your skin, to make sure they were free of runs, and were pleased to see you hadn’t snagged them on anything – yet. 

“Don’t you look lovely,” your father remarked as he passed by, a trail of tobacco smoke following him down the hall. With a mother as high-strung as yours, you couldn’t fathom how your pipe-smoking, cool-as-a-cucumber father had thought she would be the perfect partner for him. He was the epitome of carefree and relaxed, as evidenced by his obliviousness to the chaos occurring in the kitchen. Settling into his wingback chair in the sitting room, your father pulled out the _Evening Standard_ , flipped to the crossword, and untucked a pencil from behind his ear. 

A gentleman and a scholar, as his friends jokingly called him, your father was a professor of physics and mathematics at London’s Imperial College. He was habitually early to events, smoked constantly, and was an incredibly dedicated educator. Students at the college never had to search far to find him if they had questions or concerns; his office was always open, and the bowl of saltwater taffy on his desk always full. You loved your father dearly, and appreciated all of his little quirks. _Almost._

A knock came at the door, and your brother zipped down the hall to answer it. Michael, three years your senior, had been waiting all semester for today, as it would be the first opportunity for him to visit his best friend since the summer holiday. The front door creaked open, admitting your parents’ closest friends, Harold and Ruth May, and their son Brian. 

“Lovely to see you, Michael,” Mrs. May cooed, kissing your brother’s cheek. He was past the point of embarrassment when it came to receiving hugs and kisses from her, so he took it in stride. Mr. May greeted Michael with a firm handshake and a clap on the back, having not seen him in recent months either. During summer breaks from university, your brother worked for Mr. May as a student draughtsman at the Ministry of Aviation, gaining work experience to supplement his studies in mechanical engineering at Glasgow’s University of Strathclyde. 

“Good to finally see you, mate,” Michael grinned, pulling Brian into a tight hug. Your brother, who had inherited your father’s height, stood two inches shorter than his friend, and was just as gangly. Both boys had been teased horrendously at school for their knobby knees and long giraffe legs, but had found solace in each the fact that they were both awkward. 

“Been ages, hasn’t it?” Brian replied, taking a moment to adjust the knot of your brother’s tie, which he had haphazardly wrapped around his neck a few minutes before. “Is Anne-Marie joining today?” 

“She’s just getting dressed,” Michael replied, craning his neck toward the staircase. “She’ll be down in a moment, I’m sure.” His fiancée, a willowy girl from Gloucestershire, had come to London over the holidays to meet your family. Brian had met her when his band stopped in Glasgow during a tour, and was set to be your brother’s best man at their wedding in June. You, as the only sister either of them had, would be the maid of honour. 

You flicked the toilet light switch off and entered the sitting room, where Mr. and Mrs. May greeted you fondly. Since you had been living at home until a few weeks ago, they had seen you more recently than Michael. Brian, who had been renting a flat with his bandmates for the past year, hadn’t seen you since last Christmas. When his eyes met yours, you felt a slight shock; had he ever become handsome! His mouth fell open at the sight of you all dolled up for the occasion. 

“Y/N,” he said weakly, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Good to see you.” The greeting felt off; in years previous, he would have scooped you into a hug, as anyone would his kid sister. Now, though, something had changed; at 21, you had finally grown into your looks, and held yourself with a confidence you had struggled to find as a teen. His parents may not have noticed a difference, Brian had. 

“You too, Bri,” you smiled awkwardly, chewing your bottom lip. No one else seemed to notice the tension, however, and the greetings continued, with hugs all around. When Anne-Marie descended the staircase, dressed in a stunning emerald green frock that accented her red curls, you slunk towards the back of the sitting room, taking a seat on the floor beside the fireplace. Michael had started a few logs earlier in the day, but it seemed to you that the fire could use some more fuel, and it separated you from the attention being paid to your soon-to-be sister. As you reached for a split log from the metal basket on the hearth, a shadow appeared on the floor beside you. 

“Can I give you a hand?” Brian asked, crouching down to your left. “I think I’ve got it,” you assured him. “Pretty sure I haven’t forgotten how to pick up a piece of wood since I moved out.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that—” 

“It’s fine, Brian,” you laughed, glancing up at him. “You were trying to be helpful. I appreciate it.” A mane of dark curls framed his face, some of which had been blown awry on the walk from the May’s car to the door. Brian inhaled the fruity scent of your perfume as you leaned in and reached up to rearrange the strays. 

“You look beautiful today,” he acknowledged, his hazel eyes trained on your face while you fixed his hair. You felt a blush creep into your cheeks, not used to such compliments, especially from boys, and certainly not from your brother’s friends. Figuring he was just trying to be nice, you brushed him off. 

“Certainly not compared to Anne-Marie,” you murmured. Brian frowned in confusion, not having noticed anything particularly striking about Michael’s fiancée. His attention had been focused elsewhere. 

“How has it been having her stay here?” he asked quietly, crossing his legs and leaning back on his hands once you appeared satisfied with his hair. You tucked in beside him, carefully arranging your skirt over your knees so as to avoid any wardrobe malfunctions. “I’ve only met her the one time, but I’m sure you’ve had time enough to formulate an opinion. Is she really _the one_ , do you think?” 

“S’alright,” you shrugged. “Seems like a charming girl.” Brian snickered, detecting a hint of sarcasm in your voice. He pressed his lips together and raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to elaborate. 

“You know I won’t tell,” he promised. Before you could explain yourself, however, your mother called your name. You rolled your eyes and sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, but knowing that things would get worse if you didn’t answer her the first time, you stood up to head for the kitchen. 

“Duty calls,” you said sourly. 

“Sorry,” Brian mouthed, appearing sympathetic to your plight. Having spent plenty of hours of his childhood in your house, Brian was well aware of your mother’s tendency to get worked up over nothing. Figuring she just wanted another tray of hors-d’oeuvres set out on the table, you slipped past the lovebirds and the Mays and into the kitchen. 

“Yes, Mum?” you asked brightly, feigning enthusiasm. Not surprisingly, your mother looked as though she’d just heard news that an atomic bomb was going to be dropped in the centre of Hampton later that day. In reality, she was frantic because she’d realized she had run out of butter. 

“Sainsbury’s is open until 5 today,” she told you, “so just take the car and pick some up.” 

“Can’t we just use margarine? It’ll go fine on bread and potatoes,” you reasoned, but your mother wouldn’t hear of it. 

“It’s _Christmas_ , Y/N,” she gasped in horror. “I wouldn’t dream of serving margarine. What an absurd suggestion.” Really, _she_ was being absurd, but you decided that telling her that would probably not resolve the issue. 

“I’ll walk,” you declared. “No use in taking the car when it’s so close.” Sainsbury’s was less than a 10-minute walk from your house, and despite the chilly weather, you felt that getting out of the house for a few minutes would do well to calm your frustrations. Being home over the holidays was starting to take a toll on you in terms of mood and temper, and the last thing you wanted was to explode at your mother in front of her friends. 

“Why don’t you ask Anne-Marie to join you on your errand?” she suggested, walking up behind your brother and his fiancée, and laying a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Get in some quality sister bonding time while she’s here.” 

“Mum,” Michael protested, “it’s bloody freezing outside. “She’s not going out in that, dressed like this.” 

“I’ll go,” Brian volunteered, having joined the group of you in the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room. “We’ll be back before you can miss us.” You smiled appreciatively at him, grateful for rescuing you from 30 minutes of awkward chitchat with Anne-Marie. Not wanting to waste another minute talking with your mother, you stepped into the sitting room and tugged on Brian’s arm, pulling him towards the coat stand. 

“Dress warm,” your father encouraged you both. “I think I see some snowflakes coming down out there.” As you pulled your knee-length wool coat down from its hook, Brian assisted you by holding it so you could slip your arms into the sleeves properly. While he shrugged into his own coat, you pulled a white scarf from its hanger and looped it around his neck. 

“Oh, lovely,” he chuckled, tossing one end over his shoulder. You tugged on your mittens and slipped a pair of earmuffs over your head, and smiled up at him. 

“Da says to dress warm,” you shrugged innocently. “I don’t make the rules.” Once your boots were laced up, Brian opened the front door, and with a wave to your families, you both stepped out into the cool afternoon air. 

As you walked along the street, snowflakes floated lazily through the air, kissing your skin and catching in your eyelashes. The white flakes stood out starkly against Brian’s dark hair, and melted as soon as you caught them on the tip of your tongue. Despite how cold the air was, the two of you were enjoying the weather. Your faces went pink with cold, and your noses ran, but the pressures of the afternoon had fallen off as soon as your feet had hit the pavement of your front drive. 

“We’re alone now, so tell me about Anne-Marie,” Brian requested once you’d made it a safe distance from the house. 

“Ugh, she’s just so…perfect,” you groaned, looping your arm through Brian’s. “She’s a mother-in-law’s wet dream, really. My parents were in love with her the moment she walked in the house.” 

“She sounds awful,” Brian teased. “That savours strongly of jealousy, Y/N.” 

“I know,” you grumbled. “I _know_ I should like her. She’s just too perfect. How is someone like me supposed to fit in at home when Michael, the perfect son, and his perfect wife come round?” 

“Oh, hush,” Brian scolded. “Your father’s constantly bragging about you. You’ve always been the apple of his eye, even if your mum’s world has revolved around Michael.” He was right, you knew; your dad did brag about you an inordinate amount, especially now that you’d been attending university. 

“It’s been better since I’ve been in my own place, at least,” you noted, clutching tighter to Brian’s arm as your feet slid around on the icy asphalt. “Only seeing Mum every few weeks makes things much more bearable for both of us when I come home.” 

“That’s a mercy,” Brian agreed. “Why the change, d’you think?” 

“Well, for starters, I don’t have to hear her constant comments on why going to college is a waste of time and money.” Your mother had been devastated when you’d announced the news over dinner one evening. She had been a homemaker and expected you to ‘grow up’ and do as she’d done – marry at 20, have children at 25. 

“I didn’t know you were going to school.” Brian turned his face towards you, his eyes curious. 

“Yeah, I started at the nursing college in August,” you nodded. “It’s busy, but good. Keeps me out of trouble.” Brian chuckled at this, thinking about his days back in upper school with Michael. You, the kid sister, had done some wild things, but you appeared to have really grown up within the last year. 

As the supermarket came into view, the two of you lapsed into silence, both lost in thought. The main road had been salted already, so you no longer needed Brian’s arm for balance, but didn’t pull away; it was a comfort, finally seeing him again after a year. He had been a constant in your life for nearly two decades. 

The checkout girl looked bored, ringing up your brick of butter with a sigh; you were sure no one really wanted to be working the day after Christmas. She seemed to vaguely recognize both you and Brian, and watched your interactions with vague interest. 

“That’ll be nine pence,” the girl told you. As you pulled your coin purse from your coat pocket, Brian dug a handful of change from the pocket of his trousers. From among several silver sixpence, he located a 10p coin and slapped it on the counter. 

“Bri, I’ll pay for it,” you protested, glancing up at him. “My mum asked for it, after all. You’re just along for the walk.” 

“I’ve got it,” Brian nodded towards the checkout girl. “Ignore her.” A scowl crossed your face, but you weren’t really annoyed; Brian had always been so stubborn, but then again, so were you. He wouldn’t get off that easy. 

“Here, I’ve found some,” you announced, scooping out a 5p coin and some pennies from your coin purse. The girl looked between the two of you, trying to decide whose coins to take. 

“Really, Y/N, it’s fine,” Brian insisted. “Save your coins and we’ll pop into the sweet shop sometime during the holiday.” His suggestion surprised you; Michael had never invited you to spend time with him and Brian before, but the comment seemed genuine. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely.” 

Tucking your coins back into the purse, you allowed him to push his coin forward on the counter. The checkout girl looked as if this was the most excitement she’d seen all day. She looked at you with a crooked smile, and handed Brian a penny in change. 

“It’s nice to see you two finally got together,” she expressed, confirming your suspicion that she recognized you. “All the girls at school always thought you’d be a brilliant couple.” Both you and Brian blushed profusely at the comment. 

“Oh, we’re not—” 

“It’s not like th—” 

“Just friends, really,” you stammered. The girl apologized for her mistake, but her expression said she didn’t believe you. Brian grabbed the brick of butter and ushered you out of the shop, following quickly behind you. 

The walk home was silent but for the crunch of your boots on the road. Brian hummed softly to himself, some tune you didn’t recognize. He was the guitarist for a college band, you knew, so you guessed it was probably some song he had written for the group. In their school days, Brian and Michael often jammed together in your brother’s bedroom. Michael had dabbled with both guitar and bass as a teen, and Brian was quite a good guitarist, always writing interesting lines on the electric guitar he and his father had built together. 

“Brian, why have you got so many sixpence?” you asked, finally breaking the silence. For some reason, the thought appeared in your mind. Clearly, the shop incident was still on your mind. “They’re barely worth anything anymore.” 

“I use them instead of a traditional guitar pick,” he explained, pulling one from his pocket. “I like the sound it makes against the strings, and I like that it’s not so flexible as the plastic picks.” He handed the coin to you, which you flipped over to look at the images etched in the metal; a twist of flowers on one side, and Queen Elizabeth’s profile on the other. You held the sixpence out to Brian, but he shook his head. “Keep it, I’ve got plenty,” he smiled. “Think of me when you see it.” 

“Are things going well with your band, then?” you moved on, letting your hand fall to your side with the coin still clutched between your fingers. “Michael said you’ve been playing shows when you’ve got the time.” 

“We play shows on the weekends, in pubs and at colleges, mostly,” he shrugged. “It’s been alright. There’s four of us who play together now. Roger, who you’ve met, Freddie, who’s from Feltham, and John, who’s living in residence at Chelsea College, but comes from Leicestershire.” 

“Do you all get on well?” you wondered, glancing up at him. “You’re such a stubborn person, I’m sure it’s a nightmare to try to argue with you.” Brian cracked a smile and nodded in acknowledgement. He and Michael, having been friends since they were still in nappies, had had their fair share of rows. 

“Roger and I have gone at it a few times,” he admitted, “but Freddie tries his best to keep the peace. I think we work together well, though. We’re all very different in our tastes and styles, but that’s why we make such a good team.” His voice was mellow as he reflected on his bandmates, and you sensed that Brian was very fond of these men. 

Just then a car drove through a puddle on the road beside you, spraying up a wave of muddy water that splashed you up to your waist. You shrieked as the cold water soaked through your sheer tights and coat. 

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Brian exclaimed, reaching out to pull you away from the puddle, even though it was too late to save your tights. “What a tosser. Should’ve slowed down, or driven around the water.” His hand gripped your arm protectively, looking you up and down as he inspected the damage. 

“I’m fine,” you grouched, “but my tights are ruined. Just bought the bloody things, too.” You were glad your coat was long enough to cover your skirt and blouse, or they could have been splashed as well. 

“Let’s get you home so you can change, then.” Brian rubbed your upper back, his touch an attempt to comfort and reassure you. He had never been a particularly touchy person, but you didn’t mind the feeling. 

The house was in view within a minute, and you were glad; the chilly air plus your wet tights and boots made for an uncomfortable walk. Brian distanced himself from you as you approached the front door, not wanting to create cause for questions from his parents or yours. The checkout girl had clearly noticed his interest in you, even if you hadn’t clued in yet. 

“There we are,” your mother cheered as you walked in, taking the brick of butter from Brian’s hand. “Even warmed it up for us.” You let out a long sigh, slightly perturbed that your mother hadn’t thought to thank either of you. Once you had stepped out of your water-logged boots, you padded into the sitting room, where the Mays, your father, Michael and Anne-Marie were seated. 

“What’s happened to you?” Brian’s mother asked, addressing your dirty, wet tights. “And you, too, Brian!” You looked down at Brian’s feet and realized that he must have been splashed as well; his trousers were wet past up to the middle of his shins, and his socks looked quite damp. 

“Car drove through a puddle and sprayed us,” Brian explained. 

“Have you got other tights, Y/N?” Anne-Marie asked. “If not, there’s a pair sitting on the bed upstairs. You’re welcome to use them.” 

“I might have to take you up on that,” you nodded, remembering that these were the only pair you had without runs. “Thank you for offering, I appreciate it.” Brian looked down at himself, grimacing at the feeling of wet fabric against his skin. 

“Could I trouble you for a pair of trousers and some socks, Michael?” he wondered. “These are going to be uncomfortable if I stay in them.” 

“I know where they are,” you answered, seeing that your brother was comfortably settled in on the sofa, with Anne-Marie curled up beside him. “Come with me and I’ll grab some for you.” Brian followed you up the stairs, leaving the rest of the group to continue their discussion of the Queen’s Christmas message, which everyone had tuned into yesterday afternoon. 

“I’m sure they’re where they always are,” you told Brian, pointing to the chest of drawers against the wall. “Second drawer is trousers, bottom drawer is socks.” You sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted your skirt a bit, exposing your legs so you could yank your tights down. Brian was busy rifling through drawers, so you figured he wouldn’t mind. 

“Do you mind if I just change in here?” Brian asked, turning around. “If not, I’ll run down to the toilet.” You balled up your tights and chucked them across the room into the bin, stretching your bare legs out before you. Brian flushed pink and turned away, wanting to give you privacy. 

“Come on now,” you teased, “how many times have I see you in your pants? Of course, you can change here.” Anne-Marie’s tights weren’t on the bed, as she had told you, but instead sat atop the chest of drawers, next to where Brian had set down the trousers he was borrowing from Michael. Realizing these were what you needed, he handed them to you. 

“Is she sleeping in here with Michael?” Brian inquired, pointing towards the large overnight bag overflowing with skirts and blouses. 

“She is indeed,” you said. “Can’t believe Mum and Da allowed it, actually. They’re a bit old-fashioned, as you know. Guess they know times are changing, or something.” Your face turned sour as you remembered the awkward situation that had occurred a few days before. 

“What?” Brian smirked, noticing your expression. You pretended to shiver in disgust but decided to tell the story anyways. It was only Brian, after all. 

“Mum and Dad were out doing some last-minute Christmas shopping,” you began, “and I had been out with some girls from school. I stopped back home to drop off a book I’d borrowed from Da, and…” you trailed off, looking up at Brian. 

“And _what_?” he shrugged. “You’ve got to tell me now that you’ve started.” 

“And I walked into the house, walked upstairs to put the book in Da’s study, and walked directly past Michael’s room while he and Anne-Marie were shagging, _very_ loudly.” Brian’s face twisted into an uncomfortable grimace as he sympathized with you. 

“Never something you need to hear,” he shook his head. “Ugh. I’ve had my fair share of those situations living with Roger, let me tell you.” As he shared an anecdote with you, he stepped out of his trousers and hung them over Michael’s desk chair to dry. 

“Oh,” you said aloud, not having intended to do so. The sight of Brian in his briefs made you feel a bit warmer than you had anticipated. Your cheeks flushed, as Brian’s had only a few minutes before, and you averted your gaze. For some reason, your thoughts flashed to the idea of kissing your brother’s friend – something that had never occurred to you. 

“Sorry,” Brian mumbled, quickly pulling Michael’s trousers on. 

“No, no,” you interjected, “you haven’t done anything wrong.” He zipped and buttoned up, tucking his shirt into the waistband quickly. You thought back to your trip to the supermarket and recalled the way it had felt to have your arm looped through his. Suddenly, the idea of being close to Brian felt natural, and made sense to you; what other man had you known so long, and so well? 

“I’ll just, um, give you the room,” he stated, moving towards the door. 

“Brian, stop,” you spoke, your voice wobbling slightly. Letting the tights fall to the floor, you stood up and strode over to stand before him. Brian swallowed hard as he gazed down into your eyes. 

“Don’t,” he murmured, stepping back against the drawers. His eyebrows had drawn together in confusion, and he almost looked as though you had hurt him. 

“Don’t what?” 

“Don’t stand this close to me,” he croaked. “I like you, Y/N, I always have, but you’re my best mate’s sister. This can’t happen.” 

“What do you want, Bri?” you whispered, reaching up and brushing your fingers against his cheek. Brian’s skin was soft and familiar, and you felt an odd longing to run your hands over it all, to trace over childhood memories. 

“I can’t,” he shook his head. “Michael would kill me.” 

“He’s not here,” you said, snaking a hand through his hair. Ever so gently, you closed your fingers, catching a fistful of dark curls. Brian’s eyes flickered across your face, conflicted. 

“They’re all waiting for us downstairs,” he quavered. “Someone will come looking for us.” 

“Just for a moment, then,” you hummed, pulling him towards you. Your lips crashed together, as if there had been a lifetime of longing between the two of you. Clearly this was not your first time, nor his, because there was no hesitation or awkwardness in the kiss. Brian let out a soft moan as you pressed your body against his, pushing him against the wooden furniture behind him. His hands settled on your hips, and he clutched at the fabric of your skirt to pull you closer. 

* * * * * 

“I’m sure she’s just forgotten where you keep things,” Anne-Marie told Michael when he asked where Y/N and Brian had gone. “I’ll go up and give her a hand. I need to grab something from my bag, anyway.” She climbed the stairs, holding onto the railing to avoid slipping on the hardwood, as she had done yesterday. The door to Michael’s bedroom was partly ajar, so she thought nothing of it when she waltzed into the room. 

To her surprise, Anne-Marie saw you and Brian in a tight embrace, your lips locked together. It was only a kiss, nothing more serious than that, but the scene still took her by surprise. You hadn’t heard her entrance, so she knocked on the door, causing you to spring apart. While Brian looked more guilty than anything else, your expression was one of annoyance. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Anne-Marie said softly, “but they’re beginning to wonder where you’ve gone off to.” She noticed that Brian’s hair appeared more dishevelled than it had earlier, and that your cheeks were blazing red. 

“Are you going to tell them?” you asked, clenching your jaw. 

“Not even Michael,” Anne-Marie promised. “Even though he’d be excited.” 

“No, he wouldn’t,” Brian gulped. You realized how messy his hair looked, and reached up to fix it. Although Brian was embarrassed at having been discovered, he didn’t seem to mind your attention. 

“He’s been hoping you two would hit it off since before I met him,” Anne-Marie laughed. “Trust me, he wouldn’t be upset. But I won’t say anything, that’s your own business.” You relaxed a bit, realizing she was likely telling the truth, but Brian still looked like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Just come downstairs soon, alright?” she recommended. 

“We will,” you assured her. Anne-Marie closed the door behind her, leaving you and Brian alone once again. 

"That wasn't ideal," you grimaced, leaning against him. Brian slung an arm around you, holding you tightly while he waited for his heart to settle down. "Let me know when you're ready to go downstairs." 

"I'll just have a mince pie when we get there," he told you, "that should settle me right down." 

"How can you still have an appetite for mince pies?" you cried, stepping back. "Ugh, I can't believe you sometimes, Brian." And with that, the two of you settled back into your typical friendly banter, acting as if nothing at all had happened between you. Now wasn't the time to discuss the kiss; your mother would probably come stomping up the stairs if you didn't show up in the next 25 seconds anyway. 

"I happen to have good taste in food," Brian harrumphed, following you down the stairs. 

When you walked into the sitting room, your mother appeared glad to see you - until she noticed that you'd forgotten to put on the tights Anne-Marie had loaned to you. Bare legs were NOT an appropriate fashion statement, in her opinion, and against her better judgement, she decided to call you out on it right then and there. 

"Y/N, why aren't you wearing tights?" she questioned, shocked. "I thought that's why you went upstairs. What on earth were you doing up there if not changing your tights?" You glanced down, seeing that you had indeed neglected to do the one thing you were supposed to do. Really, it was Brian's fault for distracting you, but there was no way you were going to share that with anyone else. 

"I...ripped a hole in them with my toenail," you improvised, creating a quick lie on the spot. "No tights seemed like a better idea than no tights. Plus, it's just family and friends. As long as Mrs. May is alright with it, I'm sure I'll still be fine to eat supper in our own house." 

"I think that would be just fine," Mrs. May smiled, nodding her approval. "As long as you sit beside Brian, Y/N. Your father's told us that you've started at the nursing college, and I'm sure Brian would be interested in hearing about the science and research aspect of nursing." You glanced up at the man beside you, who was staring down at you with pure adoration in his eyes. 

"Yeah, I think I could stand to sit next to him."

**Author's Note:**

> Might rework the ending a bit, but I listened to "Sail Away, Sweet Sister" a million times and decided to write this because of the inspiration!


End file.
